Asia's desperate Venice.

Siem Reaps cardinal points were working hard. In the North the stars struggled to glimmer within the ebbing darkness of the previous night. Over East for its 100 millionth time the sunrise was about to mirror itself above the man made peaks of Angkor Wat, into the dehydrated pond in front. West is where the clacking of excited nationalities stood clicking aspiring cameras which could be heard as far as South of Siem Reap where San our trusted friend and tuk tuk driver came to pick us up for the last time. I felt sad to be leaving dawn had come and gone as San's tuk tuk spattered and hooted its way out of town for our last time, heading for a long boat ride to the next city of Battambang.



We took this same route last week to visit the floating villages on Lake Tonle Sap and to have a much needed temple break, it was unfortunately midday and I felt almost febrile with the intense heat. The rural poverty was hard hitting, the people have nothing to wear, owned nothing, living in odd shaped homes made from wood slats that balanced high upon bending wood stilts which was built over mozzie infested dengue buzzing polluted waters, these fragile structures were built high to protect their homes when the rains come which floods the lake, in dry session the lake is around 2700 sq. km in rainy session it swells to 12,000 sq. km. Some homes had rope as access, lots of you Jane me Tarzan going on....there were few real staircases, just frail slats that looked like twigglets bound together with string that bounced when walked on, I have seen sturdier structures built for jungle contestants of ' Im a Celebrity' TV.



The funny thing was the most god awful smell, which actually wasn't funny at all. Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (PERFUME) would have felt very at home here and would no doubt be thinking pure murderous thoughts by now, as my more normal olfactory senses were exploding in my own head, my mouth breathing technique was not an option either, the rancid smells choked me either way. The smells came from the very same famous Tonle Sap lake which is the largest lake in South East Asia and the most important commercial resource of more than half the fish consumed in Cambodia, it is meant to work in harmony with specialized eco systems set up within the numerous floating villages, with its huge traps and nets, it is also meant to be a 'fresh water' lake, but I question what they mean by 'fresh' as it stank to the highest heavens and looked like thick melted Caromac. Surrounding this lake on dry land the kids ran naked, playing with the universal hoop and stick toy that is these days not seen as 'cool' by western kids, they jumped about within the discarded fish carcases and general owner less rubbish. Ice vans tried to refrigerate metal bowls full of lake produce with hand picked ice that melted as soon as they got it out the van.



Today it was cooler and we were getting the early boat and moving South. Early birds catch the worm or fish, this buzzing village was waking up and coming alive. A small naked boy of two and a half years old played alone with a small family of fish that sadly died a week last Friday, the toddler took on a large, heavy, sharp meat cleaver bigger than his own entire leg, which Gordon F**kin Ramsey would have walked into the red mist rage seeing this kid mindlessly cutting up deceased fish without a responsible adult being present, the toddlers dinkle also swung dangerously close many times to its sharp edge, I winced. Another boy had stuffed under both arms two halves of the same plastic bowl, then simultaneously scooped dung with both halves, but he could not work out why it was all falling to his feet. The boat was meant to be some kind of speed boat, it was no such thing, Motodups are basic elastic band stuff. 20 young girls tugging on us as they tried selling breakfast of 2 bananas, 1 bread roll, one triangle of laughing cow and a bottle of water, it was a steal at $2.



A young American couple sat in front of us, blissed out and very in love, honeymooners maybe, was nice. A German man boarded who I think due to size, dark circled eyes and moodiness had serious colon and boundary problems, then three pre-elder, well groomed, French couples who dominated the front rows and threw their bags everywhere. A young English family of four boarded, armed with nearly matching CAMBODIA t-shirts, guide books, lined paper and coloured pens, they tried to sit altogether for this educational and exciting trip down river, I could clearly perceive a negative situation brewing. The German man rudely grabbed then staunchly sat on his own behind the dad and one young son (aged 8ish) and refused to move for them, in fact he hid behind his newspaper, scanning the on going situation by peering over and around his paper when he thought no one was looking, he pretended not to be aware that he was causing a problem, but I noticed. The German wanted his open aired window seat as all other window seats were now taken and nothing was going to budge him. The mum and one of the very young sons (aged 4ish) drifted to the front of the boat to try to at least sit together, but the French party of six had put all their bags on the already sparse amounts of chairs left available, when me and Stu and EVERYONE else had slung all bags and backpacks up on the top deck to make more room.


The French refused to acknowledge this etiquette or even attempt removing their bags as any kind of good will gesture, the boat was full of people and as far as I could see their french bags didn't have a pulse, nor did they by their selfish behaviour, so the mum and son could not even sit together, they spilt up, the older son swapped seats with the younger one as he looked scared, the entire family were now fragmented. But the English mum and dad didn't actually say anything throughout all of this, they just used very offended pissed off body language. I wanted to say something there and then, but it was not my battle. The American couple didn't notice any of this as they carried on snogging and taking pictures of each other. The German and the French didn't budge throughout the entire 5 hour journey, in fact the German didn't even risk going to the loo or floating shop for a drink some 3 hours and 15 minutes into the long slow journey, right up to the bitter end he didn't loose his seat. Has anything actually changed in these last 50 years?



When I said in my Siem Reap - Giving Blood blog that Dengue fever is carried all over Cambodia by us the tourist...I now know how. The open aired boat that rides on a lot of open breeding ground water holds many a species of insect with wings who attach themselves to many a nationality who ride these rivers. I had my own personal entourage of midge fly things, swarms of them clung to my sweating skin, itsy bitsy things hardly visible to my sagging eyeball, to full on dengue carrying mosquitoes (its not wet enough yet luckily so technically 'potential carriers'). I had to cover myself with spray then my hoddie that was too damn hot to wear normally. I had to wear it back to front so the hood covered my face, as I was getting eaten alive. The boat trip was fascinating and educational in many places, it was a shame the kids could not sit with their parents, as there were many Khmer and Vietnamese floating households. We cruised past peoples humble homes, saw men brushing teeth using this 'fresh' Caromac coloured lake water to rinse. School boats to take the kids to floating schools, floating corner shops, with floating litter bins out front, floating bin men, floating laundrettes, clothing and hardware stores, water taxies that tried to catch up with us to off load its fare.



Old ladies hiked up sarongs ready to jump aboard, cause our boat didn't actually stop it glided at 3 knots per hour. My bingo wings got an amazing work out that day as kids everywhere were instructed to 'wave to the tourist' which they did....little voices shouting 'Hhheeeeellllllooooo' coming from every wind direction. Monks balancing on long boats blessing the sick, the heat passive swung in carefully positioned hammocks, women with folded arms nattered amongst themselves in individual little boats with piles of clothing stacked behind them yet to be ironed, random flower boxes balanced on the wooden sides in a garden fence kind of way. Every floating village has a church, I went inside Chong Khnies catholic church, otherwise known as the karaoke church as it was a karaoke parlour before that, it was small and well maintained and bad news if you had a spinning hangover and feel it necessary to repent your sins. It regularly gives charity services for the poor, it can hold a congregation of about 70 people and I soon wondered if the congregation did a boat pool share thing, or they all got boat taxis to the service or there was a boat parking valet situation going on as the space out front was only small even though it was on a lake. where do they bury their dead....questions questions....The church's patron saint is St. Peter...the fisherman!



When we came here last week in the sweltering hot day time, we were dropped off at the fish, bird, crocodile, souvenir and snack floating boat. Many kids had limbs missing some were due to land mines, some illness. they paddled round and round in circles in a giant metal soup bowl, which is also a strong metaphor for what they have to do today to survive, at what point in time do you cease to call people victims? When are people especially children allowed to carry on there lives and not continue to drag up, remember and relive the past to make them some spare change. It is upsetting to see for your self, and unless you do come here you have no idea what it is like to see this every day. The kids are encouraged to beg for money, by holding their severed limbs in full view, wrapping pet snakes around their necks and looking sad eyed and destitute, which they are. I saw a Korean man acting like he was the God of wealth 'n' tease, as he paraded around with a stash of cash, this was not some religious festival like Stu and I did in Wat Po Village, there fore it was not appropriate behaviour, the kids became hysterical grabbing the cash from his raised teasing hands, punching and kicking each other, the scram between the kids was worse than any coca cola sugar frenzy id ever seen, it was shameful to witness.



For about 5 slow miles the boat boys had to push and pull the boat and us in it with long paddle sticks away from shallow waters and rocks. This is when I realised a speed boat would have been a silly idea. Then we ran out of water the lake was no more. We all got off the boat and were told to climb up the muddy bank then pile into any one of three trucks the size of a hall way rug. The German man pushed past me again, he stumbled and lost his footing as he ran up onto the back tire of the truck to get a good seat. The Pre-elderly French kept laughing 'at zee crazzie experreannzz zay ver avvvinggg' so I part forgave them for their previous selfishness, but this didn't last long. Stu and I were perched at the tail end of this small truck on top of all the luggage that bounced from the sky to the earth with every dip in the road. I have never bareback ridden in a rodeo ever, so this was a new experiance for me. At some points we all had to get off so the truck could get through the steep dips in the dirt track of a road. We drove through fields and then more fields. Branches randomly slapped the German across his face. But buried in the middle of our completely packed truck was a little old lady, white as snow, thin as paper and as old as time. Where on earth did she come from?



Before we disembarked again for the 4th time for safety reasons, I said to the French team leader 'Oh pardon bonjour Monsieur.. c'est bien avec vous si cette petite vieille dame s'assied avec le chauffeur à l'intérieur, elle se désintégrera si elle continue à s'asseoir en haut avec nous dans le sauvage. Merci....he looked at me like I was Volcan, all I said to him was 'oh pardon me hello sir...would it be OK with you if this little old lady sits with the driver inside, she will disintegrate if she continues to sit up with us in the wild. Thank you' He didn't even say your school french is tries bien, Ok I will consider this, no, he walked off. I had previously noticed that there was at least four spare seats inside where the driver sits. While their French feet stood on solid politically safe Cambodian ground ( In 1863, the king of Cambodia placed the country under French protection; it became part of French Indochina in 1887. Following Japanese occupation in World War II, Cambodia became independent within the French Union in 1949 and fully independent in 1953. ) he muttered in French to his cronies, the old paper white lady was looking hypotensive like she was about to disintegrate, it took much effort for fully abled persons like myself to climb on and off this truck, the German again leapt aboard first and nestled into his stuffed colon, but the French.....(breathe Claire breathe...)


I kid you not..... suddenly made up a great story that one of the party was now suddenly 'very ill'. See, what I think happened here was he had not previously thought this through about the seating arrangements inside and so jumped on this Battambang bandwagon abit late, so the pretendy sick Frenchie, (who to my professional opinion had nothing wrong with him at all) and THREE of the other French party insisted on holding his hand in the front alongside the driver. So this little old lady climbed back up into the back of the truck with the rest of us. Merde! When were were heat stroked, covered in dirt, unable to breath yet nearing civilisation the remaining French man slammed his fists on the passenger window which made us all jump, the driver slammed on his breaks, the French man got off, shouted Merde or something like this to his friends sitting comfortably inside, he got back up into the back of the truck and we all carried on.


I swear it was one of those days when I knew deep down at least five of my planets had to be in water and the moon was certainly travelling through cancer, because I was becoming emotionally entangled by it all and I was covered from straw hair to manky feet in thick clay filth.

NB; my photos and captions are to show to those who have not visited this country that LIFE GOES ON.

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